


Hell Week

by MoonOcean21



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Family, Fluff, Friendship, Humor, M/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-05 06:41:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1090816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonOcean21/pseuds/MoonOcean21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's his 3rd year in college and Stiles knows he better work on his academic performance if he really wants to be in medical school. Semestral break is just around the corner and LT's are rolling in. Normally, those things don't pose a threat for Stiles. However, some things seem off in this particular semester. And because Stiles wasn't exactly subtle, a certain werewolf picks up on it and decides to help out in his own way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Crash Course in TV References

The sound of some kid nosing his way through the kitchen cupboards shouldn't bother the Sheriff anymore. His son, Stiles, has complete control of their kitchen for what-- 5 years now? Ever since Stiles took interest in cooking for the both of them during his high school years, the noise has been a part of their daily routine. Not that the Sheriff's complaining. The kid might as well be given the title of a professional chef.

He has to make a mental note not to think of his son as a little boy again. But the way Stiles is rushing around the kitchen, opening and closing drawers reminds him of a child looking for a jar of cookies.

"It's a little too early for dinner and I know you've already had your lunch. So what are you looking for?"

Without even giving a single glance at his dad, Stiles responds. "How do you know I'm not just looking for a snack?"

"It might be due to the fact that the food police has banned junk food from ever setting foot in our place."

"Hey, my policies have solid foundation. Also, what if I have a secret stash?" Stiles rebuts with a grin.

And just like that, the Sheriff's ears perk up, levelling his head while trying to assess the situation. Anticipation shortly spreads on his face which quickly turns in to a disappointed look.

"Yeah, like that'll happen." His dad says with hands resting on his hips.

A few moments after those words leave his mouth, his thoughts shift to the Nemeton events. If his son can keep a secret about their moon business back then, how hard can it be to keep the existence of a box of doughnuts from ever showing up? With a raise of his hands, he dismisses the thought and goes over the files he brought from work.

_________

_Orange bottle. Orange. Pills. Where is it?_

Ten minutes of searching in the kitchen hasn't brought results to Stiles. _Yet_.

No surprise, though. That bottle hasn't seen the light of day for years. He never thought he would find the need for it again. Until his recent observance of his own lack of attention, unwillingness to understand what he's even reading, and the constant ache of keeping his mind distracted from anything school-related.

He slides the green drawer to the side, revealing plastic containers of various items. The one in the middle has packets of coffee dangling down the railings, with boxes of tea and cereals arranged right next to each other. Jars of sugar, milk powder, and cocoa are found on top. The heavier bags of flour, and coconut powder are obviously on the bottom.

Seriously, Stiles will never stop being amazed at this 7-foot tall food organizer his dad built just before his college years started. It saved his life a lot from several kitchen dilemmas and hopefully, it holds the answer to his problems right now.

His finger finally stops roaming as soon as it reaches the blue medicine box at the end of the last compartment.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor, he hugs the container like it holds the best Christmas present he would ever get.

"Green cabinet, you have yet to fail your master," says Stiles while resisting the urge to give the bearhug treatment to the giant furniture.

He finally stands, moves out of the kitchen and stands next to his dad. Stiles follows his dad's eyes as they immediately fall at the sight of the medicine box. That took only a few seconds before his dad's hands made their way to Stiles checking for injuries, bruises, or any of the sort.

"Dad, stop-- relax. I don't have any physical injuries," Stiles mutters. His arms were squared above his shoulders like he's being frisked for possessing something illegal.

"I thought I told you to inform me if you guys are going on your  _Mystery Machine_ stuff again. You have to tell me so I can help you. I _AM_  actually authorized to use..."

Stiles already knows where this conversation is going but that's not the point. His dad totally has the wrong idea. But because the Sheriff has no intention to end his berating, Stiles shoves his hand down the medicine box, grabs the orange bottle, and holds it up in front of his dad.

Which brings the entire monologue to an abrupt, "Oh."

_"Oh,"_  repeats the Sheriff, momentarily distracted. "Adderall."

"No, my  _Scooby Snacks,_ " says Stiles while rattling the bottle. "To battle the menace of upcoming LT's?"

Stiles clearly got the better off his dad when it comes to being unnecessarilly witty. And now that he found what he needed plus a hearty father-son bantering, he's in the mood of going up to his room to study.

"Alright, then. But first-"  
  
The Sheriff gives a quick tug and grabs the bottle out of Stiles' hands.

"One, you haven't used this in years. I thought you found a way to handle this problem without the need for medicine."

Stiles cuts him off. "Yeah, I already formulated a guide. It's called How-to-Deal-with-School-While-Having-ADHD. It's been working well and you should try it."

"Then, why do you plan on taking it now?"

"Okay, maybe it hasn't been working that much recently," Stiles says in a rush. "I really don't know why either. So if you'll excuse me, I need to go study now, okay?"

"Fine. But number two, you haven't used this _in years_." The Sheriff states while giving a ridiculous emphasis on the last part.

 Stiles feels like his dad is hinting on something because he obviously just repeated his words. "What is that supposed to mean?" _  
_

"It means you should give the expiration date a look." With that, he hands the bottle back to his son by slightly tapping it on his head.

_Genius_. Stiles thinks to himself as he headed up the stairs.  _I'm gonna have to drop by the drugstore soon_.

His dad goes back to his files still hung up on his monologue, as well as the disturbing image of Stiles popping pills like they're Scooby Snacks. Maybe his son developing an interest in tv references wasn't such a good habit after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is actually my first try at making a fic. To be honest, I am inexperienced and I'm quite sure the next one's writing will still be rough.
> 
> Leave a comment because I really need points for improvement. Thanks!


	2. Social Psychology

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friday nights are meant for spending time with friends. The guys turn up at the Hale house but with the unanimous decision of studying instead of having fun. Well, everyone except for a Stiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit lengthy so brace yourselves. In my opinion, it needs a lot of work but I still went with posting it rather than spend another day trying to edit it. It will be a huge favor if you could give a comment about my writing.
> 
> Fair warning, this contains spoilers up until season 3a.

It's amazing how people can be easily classified once Hell Week comes in. You have your crammers filing in the library; some who are patiently waiting for a desktop to work on or a solitary cubicle to settle in, and some who are arguing about unavailable references which they should have photocopied weeks ago. Then, you have the dormers whose casual strides signify that their so-called home is just a few blocks away.

 _Lucky them_ , Stiles thinks. He is walking down the staircase of the main entrance when he bumps across a group of people waving their hands at a passing van. He totally forgot about the students who are impervious to the demands of college requirements. These people can be one of two things: 1) they have absolutely no room for giving fucks about their grades; 2) their overwhelming intellect allows them to eat A's in their QPI without opening a single book in their freaking lives.

An image of Lydia pops into his head when he mentions that last part. He is pretty sure Lydia could take up any course in college and still graduate with high honors. He still cannot get over Lydia's decision of taking up Fine Arts and Advertising when she could have a Ph.D. at the drop of her heels. And Stiles could totally picture her strawberry-blond hair bouncing delicately on a paperwhite lab coat as she struts her way in response to the PA system calling for a  _Dr. Lydia Martin_.

The shouts of the students waiting for their carpool knocks him off his daydream. He heads for the Jeep while wishing he could be one of those intellectual assholes mentioned before.  _Because if I am, I could be partying right now_. _  
_

At least, that's what he thinks when he remembers where he is actually heading. It's a Friday, and tonight should be spent with his favorite bunch of people.

It's still three o'clock in the afternoon, however. Scott and Allison usually go there at 8. Lydia, sometimes, go with the other two but would more likely drop by around nine o'clock. Jackson has insisted on being a varsity member so he goes only after training which ends at 10.

Stiles figures he'll just be earlier than the others today. Besides, he still has to make his way to the drugstore. With the prescription in hand, he starts the engine of his Jeep.

\---------

The road on the way to the forest is something Stiles usually enjoys. He spends the time listening to _Imagine Dragons_ ,  _Young the Giant_ , and  _Mumford & Sons_ as he goes back to the numerous adventures he had in the past.

Today is an exception, though. His thought process shifts from a well-operated conveyer belt to an unkempt roller coaster. The first thing that comes into his mind is of the night he and Scott went looking for a body.  _It's probably an example_ of _Primacy effect_ , Stiles thinks. After all, that did start everything. _  
_

 _Let's see, how about night escapades with my baby right here_ , muses Stiles as he taps his fingers on the steering wheel.

He drove Derek, one time, to the hospital just to be ordered around and almost got himself killed by the ex-Alpha's crazy uncle. Heck, he even had the pleasure of having a bleeding Mr. Grumpyface in his car after getting shot with a magic bullet. Not to mention, the loony uncle, Peter Hale, wrecked his engine when they were at school.

Stiles' thoughts switch from those memories to lighter ones. Those that reminded him that his Jeep wasn't just a ticket to death. He got an enraged Jackson in his Kanima form with the hood-- well, sort of. Also, if not for the Jeep, he wouldn't have gotten in time to save his dad and the others from being sacrificed to a druid gone-haywire.

Okay, maybe those things weren't pleasant either but they did matter when it came to saving their lives. It was his only way of catching up to the wolves; to be by their side. Right now, it's also his means of getting to the Hale house. 

"Maybe I should actually paint you green and call you the Mystery Machine," says Stiles with a short laugh. "Or maybe Ghost Mobile?"

Thankfully, his brain is slowing down a bit.

He glances at the brown paper bag on the passenger seat as he pulls up at the edge of the preserve. 

\---------

The door opens with a clatter of noise as the guy dressed in plaid and black t-shirt barges through the living room with a gleeful "Hey!"

"Oh hey, Stiles," Allison answers with a smile. Scott bounces up from the couch they're sharing and gives Stiles a quick hug before turning his attention back to the laptop.

Stiles takes that as a hint that both are preoccupied. He takes a couple of seconds looking around the room from his position. Daylight passes through the silk drapings just beside the couch. An empty vase stands near the window. Two small shelves sandwiched beside it and a staircase leading to the upper rooms. He can faintly hear a voice from one of them and the sound of leather shoes tapping on the wooden floor. Besides that, everything else is quiet.

He decides to make tea and step out the back door. Only, he finds Lydia seating by the porch and clearly absorbed in her sketchbook. Stiles knows better than to intrude while she's in her zone but a simple greeting wouldn't hurt. Besides, he doesn't have much to do; Lydia would understand if he's just asking for company.

The sketchbook flops down on her legs as she observes Stiles setting a mug down the table. A pencil rolls acroos an image of evergreens and a lake peeking through the trees. There isn't even a lake nearby but the trees are evidently inspired from the surrounding forest. Lydia is definitely working on manipulating scenery and melding it with her own imagination.

"That. Is. Brilliant." Stiles says in between sipping his tea.

"It's still in progress," muses Lydia while looking around like she's adjusting to her surroundings. The sleeves of her green wool jacket slide down as she stretches like a cat waking up from a lengthy nap.

"You look like you've been working for hours."

"And will be for a lot more. I'm not even in the graphite part yet." She purses her lip, looking over at her work. Her head is reeling but she's already trying to work out the next bits of her art.

"I'll get you some tea." Stiles makes his way into the kitchen and returns with a pot of hot water and a packet of Earl Gray.

In the middle of preparing the pot and swirling tea, they hear thuds from the floorboards upstairs. Stiles listens for a while before looking at Lydia.

She replies nonchalantly, "That's Jackson. He's practicing for an upcoming debate."

"Really? So all of you guys have been here before me?"

"Mmmhm.." she trails off as she raises her legs on the chair and settles the sketchbook on her lap again. "Anyway, thanks for the tea."

 _Huh_. Stiles curiously checks his phone as he heads back inside. _No messages._

\---------

Three hours have passed and Stiles feels happy about his study progress. He's sitting at the dining table. The blue empty mug sits across his books and a rim of yellow paper. His bag is right next to him; the lightbulb shines dimly over the paper bag inside it. He did not even have to take a single pill. This place works wonders. He smiles at an empty space, looking lost in his thoughts.

That's when a dark-haired figure moves through the hall. A smile slowly spreads across his lips until he is fully seen in the barely-lit room.

"Just when I thought this house has enough kids in desperate need of a study area."

"Stiles," Derek waves a hand in front of his face. "Hey."

It takes a snap of his fingers and eyebrows raised in a quizzical manner before he gets a response.

"Oh, hey Derek," Stiles mouths off as he struggles getting the pen which rolled away from his hands.

"Hell week got you too, huh?"

Stiles gives an empty laugh. "You have no idea."

It's a lie. The few hours he spent reading for Social Psychology class was definitely above satisfactory. He was even able to make a few notes as a reviewer.

Something else has been bugging him though. He just hasn't put a finger on it yet.

"How long have the others been here exactly?"

Derek checks the clock above the counter table. "Half past three."

"Is there something wrong?" he adds because Stiles is silently looking at his phone. He's contemplating. While it may not be one of Stiles' most appreciated aspects, his contemplation certainly deserves some attention. Especially when he is wearing it with a sort of loneliness. The same one Derek returned to after he left for Chicago.

Stiles snaps out of another daze and finally manages to reply. "Just thinking about what to have for dinner. Gotta serve some brain food for everyone here, right?"

Derek is just glad the Stilinski charm got back up again so he agrees. Soon enough, both of them are grabbing beans, carrots, baby corns, knives and other utensils. Stiles rolls up his sleeves, ready to work on a Chicken Chopseuy. Derek brings some coal outside for a few sticks of barbecue.

\---------

Dinner passed by quickly and rather uneventfully. Most of the guys had their heads hung up on their respective deadlines. Scott brought the book project he and Allison were discussing earlier. They headed back to the couch soon after eating. Lydia kept perking up and excitedly drinking her refreshment every once in a while. It was confirmed to be her bursts of inspiration when she was itching to get back to her sketchbook. The only person who seemed to be enjoying his meal was Jackson.

So now, it's dinner among him, Stiles and Derek.

"So how goes the King's Speech?" asks Stiles in earnest.

Jackson, with his smug face on, looks like he's cooking something special for next week's debate. He manages to look even more dramatic by playfully poking his fork around his vegetables, moving it to his gaping mouth before replying to Stiles.

"Let's just say I'm raising war against the opposition."

Finally, he bites at the food in front of him while his eyes are still fixed upon Stiles. 

That's when Derek joins in. "Do you want an Oscar with that?"

The quirk of the eyebrows and the pathetic Joker imitation Derek has on is enough to send Stiles laughing for minutes. The past five years may have have been enough for Stiles' comical taste to influence Derek's. That still remains an open question for Stiles. Maybe this side has always been inside the werewolf and he is just that good at hiding it. Whichever it was, it makes their dinner a lot livelier.

The laughter tones down a bit when Scott enters sniffing for more barbecue to bring to the living room. He puts four sticks on a plate and walks back to hallway when Stiles grabs the opportunity to ask him a question.

"Hey Scott," he shouts with a ragged breath and cheeks still red from their little amusement. "How about we have a group study for next week?"

Stiles says it with a ring of excitement and everyone can sense it. In most cases Stiles gets an idea, people find it hard to turn down. He has a way of hyping them up, the way he lights up in enthusiasm, his hand gestures going overboard in emphasis of certain details, and his eyes glistening as if he could see something the others couldn't. And he is sure that the others are just as excited as he is right now, which ultimately makes Scott's next words more than a little disappointing.

"Sorry Stiles, you know I have a lot to make up for my academics right now. I don't think I have enough time for that."

Stiles argues, "Exactly! Which is why this would be a great idea. Social Psych class states that  _social facilitiation_ is an actual thing."

" _Uh_ , that only works when you already have an adequate grasp of the lessons, remember? Besides, it's more of a physical thing than for mental work," Scott shrugs, ready to bring his meal back to Allison and his studies.

Stiles drops the thought because Scott is actually right. He must have missed it when he was reading a while ago. The point is, Scott is doing much better than Stiles right now so that should be taken as a warning complete with a police siren.

The sudden fall of his shoulders tells Derek that Stiles is taking this heavier than the norm as he adjusts himself back to his seat, glancing at his food and his phone next to it. Derek is about to say something when Jackson cuts in. "Tell you what, I'll go with you to the library soon after my debate on Monday."

"Sure," Stiles says with a wry smile. "I need help with Political Science anyway."


	3. Political Science

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles gets a little help from Jackson because he really hates Political Science. He probably hates it as much as he hates Jackson back then. However, in just a few exchange of words, he gets a glimpse of Jackson as more than just an asshole.

It was the notice board that reminded Stiles he had a routine to go back to; something that kept him in check in the midst of hunting the supernatural and/or running from it. Throw in his old high school responsibilities and you have a cork wall filled with multi-colored post-its, memos, and a combination of odd diagrams and crime scene pictures. Over the years, he has learned to keep not one, but two calendars because segregating the events of his double life is now a necessity.

Maybe he should have done the same thing for the organizers because at one point in his life, Stiles brought his shopping list to Deaton's. It was actually nice to find out that they do have  _cajun_ mix in hand but he's less than willing to bring some voodoo in his kitchen for the sake of getting free spices. That was useful information, nonetheless, so he ended up writing it down for future references.

Stiles finds himself fixed on the set of references he has been keeping on the board. Today, he is convinced that going over it like a flipbook would give him an animation guide on how to clear his frustration.

Because who wouldn't get frustrated when the problem is sitting or _rather_ \-- hovering above his head but he doesn't know how to deal with it.

It might have been the early sleep he took last night that helped him realize the actual conflict. But it's more likely the phone, because as soon as its alarm went off, he took the liberty of going over the pack's previous messages. And it hurts to find out that none of them has contacted him for a whole month, not even during their pack meetings. So it's definitely the phone, especially when it smacks right down his face for being suspended in the air for too long.

He has been thinking if he deserves this for letting it happen, whether the drawback of being avoidant or seemingly ignorant finally kicked in. He doesn't know the exact point where things started to drift apart but he did notice. The thing is he's a big fan of leaving problems alone until they bury themselves in the ground-- only this time, he is the one being left alone and the problems are slowly digging his grave.

 _Just text them_ , his brain is telling him like it's the simplest thing to do. But no, Stiles convinces himself that this is more complicated. A line has been drawn the minute he paid seventy bucks on a phone bill with no one giving so much as a 'Hey.'

His lips are starting to turn purple from biting them when he realizes flipping papers won't get him through the day. He manages to get dressed before rushing out the room as well as totally missing today's reminder to meet Jackson in school.

\---------

"Stilinski!"

Stiles has the owner of the voice memorized, from the way said owner lets his lips hang at the last syllable of his name, or the manner of bellowing it across the hall like no other students go to school. Jackson is cocky that way.

The guy is just standing there like Stiles should be the one to approach him which he does anyway. It feels awkward looking at Jackson waiting for him to get there. It feels even more awkward now that he's standing next to a guy in a suit and Stiles is a clump of a shirt inside a plaid inside a hoodie.

"Let's hit the lib," Jackson says in the most casual manner and at the same time flaunting the accents of his tailor-made suit.

Stiles goes along with him pretending he didn't forget their planned study review. He also pretends he doesn't feel out of place when the other is walking like an ambassador as they make their way across the hall.

"Oh, thank God it's empty," says Stiles, already weaving to the tables next to the blue walls of the room and dismissing the presence of a faculty member lounging at the entrance. Behind the man are shelves containing dvd's which Jackson recognizes as feature films and educational recordings. It's called the multimedia room for a reason and students are allowed to borrow the films within the premises of the school.

"I can't believe no one bothers to use this room. I could be sleeping in here  _or_ studying  _or_ watching movies  _or_ drowning in the internet." Stiles chatters on while generously using hand gestures for each thought he blurts out.

"People _do_ use this room," Jackson finally says.

"What, really? I rarely see anyone here."

" _Uh yeah_ ," Jackson mutters in a quick but low breath. "Couples go here to make out so you can go back to being thankful now and let's get started."

There is a glint at the corner of the ceiling and Stiles realizes why couples find the place inconvenient for their make-out sessions. Suddenly, all his previous ideas would be more acceptable behavior than getting caught stealing some private time because people can't handle their libido. Stiles almost goes for his phone to text Scott about the recent discovery but he sucks it up. Chances are he has already stored a similar story somewhere in his brain along with the rest of Scott's sexual escapades.

Pretty soon, Stiles is teetering between his own personal thoughts and Jackson's lecture about the idealogies behind politics. Stiles has those moments where his stream of consciousness brings him to Jackson's perceptive eyes, and notices the disappointment as well as determination. It's no secret that Stiles has a way of being there and not there at the same time. Whether or not it bothers Jackson though doesn't show up, unseen in his fluid motions or hidden in his cuffs. All that Stiles could see is confidence.

It is quite funny for Stiles. He and Jackson were never really friends. The whole thing with the Kanima was confusing. It could have been a way for them to grow apart if there was even a relationship to begin with. Moreover, Jackson left; he simply vanished without giving a proper goodbye to Lydia. The _kiss-and-run thing_ with Lydia did not play well with Stiles but it did give birth to a respect he unexpectedly found for Jackson in the most ironic way. In that moment, Stiles witnessed not only their expression of love but Jackson's blue eyes clearly says he found a resolve, a resolve he brought back with him to Beacon Hills.

A hand is waving now in front of Stiles. "You've been spacing out a lot. Do you need a break?"

"That's a good idea," Stiles nods. In fact, it was pinned down in one of his guides of overcoming his ADHD. "Let's grab something to bite downstairs."

Leaving their stuff on the table to informally announce that the place is reserved, they head for the sandwich store conveniently positioned outside the library.

"I mean, honestly, I love talking about issues, international or not," Stiles says, biting down on a combination of mozzarella, cheddar, and white cheese. "I just have a natural hatred for politics, you know?"

Jackson does not need to confirm that. He gets it. Stiles, being the son of the Sheriff, probably makes it a given for anyone of his status to be curious with general issues. That also gives anyone in his position to see just how messy things on the inside could be.

"Me, too."

"What?" Stiles throws his hands in the air, unconvinced that someone taking a pre-Law would even mouth off those words.

Jackson complacently confirms what he just said. "Everyone knows that politics has a tendency to be messy. That's why I hate it."

Now, there lies a common ground for them. Who knew Jackson could hate politics like that? Stiles pretty much decided to hate him the moment he imagined Jackson's closet to be filled with boring suits. Those things are standard uniform for undercover aliens waiting for the world to be blown out of proportion.

Jackson's arms are on the table now, resting his chin on the back of his interlaced hands. Stiles recognizes it as a gesture of solemn speech, more personal rather than laid out to multitudes. Stiles leans his head a little to the side.

"Stiles, you've seen a lot of cases in your dad's office. Most of them have nothing to do with running offices, power play, graft and corruption. But we're in Beacon Hills, okay? A small town."

Jackson continues, "Out there, we have the government. We have talk about the economy and military enforcement. All of us know these things are essential to society. And all of it works its way around, not just from the government down to society, but everything in between plus the way back up. It's a structure."

Shifting sideways, Stiles nods in acknowledgement. He knows this, contemplated about it as a matter of fact. Inevitably, the things around them fall into a structure, a  _system._ That, in itself, offers no assurance. A system can only be ran by people with no guarantee of positive results. Stiles wants to say this but Jackson already follows through.

"Some people end up reaching for that kind of power. They integrate themselves into that structure; then, they could do anything good or bad. And what's the end result?"

He gives it as a cue for Stiles to respond. He does so tentatively, at first. "They get to say it's society's fault," he pauses to clear his throat, "They get to blame this whole thing as something that comes from a faulty structure. Like it's built to be this way."

Jackson couldn't be more proud, given the smart-looking demeanor Stiles is giving off right now. But this is more than a lecture so he goes on to his point. "This is why I'm learning this. Once a person is born, he or she is already part of that system and there's probably no getting out of it. The only thing we can do is to make a change within it."

There is a short pause as the coffee maker whistles into another cup of latte. The cashier shifts inside the stall, taking the cups out on the wooden boards in front of two girls. Each is giving the other an obvious look of contempt, not even willing to withhold their dissatisfaction despite the long line of customers needed to be served.

"He or she, huh? Way to make an effort in being politically correct," says Stiles.

Jackson simply throws the empty wrappers of his food and urges Stiles to go back inside. Stiles gets up and walks alongside the other man because he somehow wishes that some of Jackson's confidence would brush on him. He would need that at least until this week is over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter serves as a filler, which sort of makes me wonder why it took so long to finish. I'm just gonna blame school on this one.


End file.
